Chapter 34
TWO OLD BULLS
Roy Hanbury folded his big arms and leaned against the doorframe. “It’ s always me first, ain’t it, Wilks.”
“You’re a good place to start, Roy.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re the main bastard round these parts.”
“Ain’t no bastard no more, Wilks.”
“Once a bastard, always a bastard—and I should know.”
Wilks had Dick Van Dyke silver hair, John Sergeant jowls, Dolph Lundgren height, and Nick Griffin hate.
Like Hanbury once had, but not any more. “My hearts pure, now,” he said. “Filled with the holy spirit.”
“Don’t think you can be forgiven for your ways, Roy.”
“Everyone can be forgiven—even you.”
“No one’s in a position to forgive me—I am my own judge.”
“God’s your judge, Wilks.”
“Fuck God.”
“You better start believing in him.”
“I do, Roy.”
“Good—then you better start worshipping him.”
“I only worship me.”
“You’ll be no good in the end times.”
“I’ll survive. I’m like a cockroach. Get through anything—disciplinary panels, nuclear war, and Day of Judgment.”
Hanbury clenched his jaw.
Wilks clocked it. “Am I pissing you off, Roy?”
“You always pissed me off, Wilks.”
“Where’s that pure heart of yours?”
Hanbury grunted.
Wilks said, “How about showing me some Christian charity and making me a cup of tea, warm the cockles of my cold, black heart on this grim old day?”
“Fuck off.”
“I can have you hauled in for obstruction.”
“For not making you a cup of tea?”
“Come on, Roy.” His face darkened, the fake mateyness rapidly fading. “Bygones and all that.”
“You come back when you’ve nailed my daughter’s killer.”
Wilks narrowed his eyes.
Hanbury said, “You royally fucked up, Wilks. There are people round here who ain’t had closure. We’re still suffering.”
Wilks looked away for a moment. His jowls shook. Then his cruel, green eyes were back on Hanbury.
He said, “Don’t fuck about with me, Roy. You ain’t got the balls anymore, son.”
Hanbury leaned forward, and Wilks reared back.
Hanbury said, “You’d be surprised at the balls I carry round with me, DCS Wilks.”
Wilks smiled. “All right. All right. That’s good. Two old bulls going head to head here. No harm done, eh? We didn’t see eye to eye back then, Roy, that’s true. Many reasons. But you’re on the straight and narrow, now. Me, I’m a couple of years away from my yacht, cruising around the Med, tanned tarts spread-eagled on deck, in—or out of—their bikinis. Let’s not ruck when there’s no need to ruck. Let’s try to be civil, eh?”
Hanbury said nothing.
Wilks’s smile went. “All I’m asking, Roy, is have you heard anything?”
“I heard nothing, Wilks.”
“That lad Jason Joseph Thomas. Called him Slow Joe round here. The kid who got his head bashed in. I know something about him.”
“Bet it’s made up, Wilks.”
“I don’t know. Made up or not, he was seen hanging around here, just outside your place, early yesterday morning. What do you say to that?”
“I say you see a lot.”
“I do, Roy. I am the all-seeing eye.”
Hanbury shrugged. “I never saw him. If he was out here, so what? They hang about all over the estate.
Wilks looked him in the eye. “Kids have been killed, you know.”
“I fucking know that. Don’t give me that bollocks. You ain’t got a heart of gold. You ain’t on a crusade for justice. Fifteen years ago you wasn’t, and you ain’t had an epiphany in the meantime.”
“Why not? You have. Or is it just show? You still the bastard you once were, Roy? Not planning to sort this out yourself are you?”
“Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.”
“I bet he does, the bloodthirsty cunt.”
“Take my name in vain, Wilks, but not the Lords.”
Wilks sneered. “Another thing the rumor mill churned out,” he said, “is that a bloke was hanging around your Tash’s place this morning.”
Hanbury said nothing.
“She got a boyfriend? New fella? No one seemed to know his name.”
Hanbury stayed silent.
“Thing is,” said Wilks, “we just need to eliminate him from our inquiries, see. Every ‘i’, every ‘t’ that kind of thing.”
“Can’t help you,” said Hanbury. “Now, I need to feed my snake.”
He shut the door in Wilks’s face.